Light the Stars
by FaylinnNorse
Summary: Bare feet walking upon loose dirt, and a star caught in a brass lantern. She was chasing a dream. He lived through lifetimes of them.
1. Chapter 1

_For Clar the Pirate._

* * *

><p>She walked. Bare feet on loose dirt. It didn't hurt anymore, not in this ground her toes could sink into – but she didn't have time to stop and enjoy it. She was walking.<p>

She'd come down the mountain, through the valley, into the foothills. Marched through a forest, across a prairie, back into a forest, into more hills. The dirt was soft here. That was something.

She was glad to be down from the mountain. Everything was hard there. Stone and wind and people who didn't smile, and truths were hardest of all when rocks came sliding, villages buried, and she alone standing.

She didn't think of them – Kira and Lorn and the rubble remaining of the cottage; when she stood alone on a mountaintop she looked at the sky into the celestial heavens and thought of one thing only: _wish on a star._ Her voice whispered into the night, and when she saw it slip from its place with its comrades, she started walking. And she didn't stop.

The mountain was rough. Her shoes wore away. She didn't care. Kept walking. Clutched a compass Lorn gave her a long time ago. He said it was attracted to magical things. Well, if there was anything magical in the world, it was her star, and she was going to find it and claim her wish.

In the villages, they shut their doors when she passed. Drew their children inside. She heard their whispers. They called her a ghost, or a witch. It was the way she passed at odd hours. Didn't speak to anyone. Just stumbled through.

She was getting thin. There wasn't much to eat. If she found herself lying amid berries, she'd eat them. If she found herself lying in someone's garden, she'd do the same. Otherwise, it didn't matter. She walked. No one beside her, alone.

So when the wagon stopped next to her, she didn't quite remember to stop as well. She walked right past until the wagon had to move forward again to catch up to her and then the man cleared his throat awkwardly before talking. "Miss, uh, could you use a ride somewhere?"

When she stopped walking, she thought she might fall over. It felt like the world ending. For more than three months – more than six – no, eight – twelve? Months, she'd been walking. No one spoke to her. She stopped for nothing.

"Miss?" The man was speaking to her. "We can get you at least to Eschen. It's the next town big enough to have a market. Not far from the capital. Are you going that far?"

She looked at him. She looked at the boy sitting next to him. She didn't speak. She clutched her compass tighter.

"You can ride in the back of the wagon. We won't bother you none."

Finally, she nodded, went to the back, hoisted herself up. She felt her arms might break with the effort. Then they were moving. This she was familiar with. Trees hurrying past in clouds of leaves and shadow. She watched the dappled effect of light on her feet, on the road growing longer behind her. Leaned her head against the side of the wagon, breathed.

"I'd go to the capital," the old farmer said – whether to her or to his son, she couldn't tell. "We'd get better prices there, but I don't trust it. Strange things have been happening there."

"Strange things have been happening everywhere," said the boy.

"That may be," said the old farmer, "but I won't be purposely taking us into the midst of it. The palace is cracking. They say the tallest tower's leaning off to the side now. It might topple any moment."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be any worse than the rock slides in the mountains. Or all those trees in the forest falling down. The creaking sound they made was the worst of it."

She moved a little then. She'd heard a creaking when she left the forest – both times. It was a strange, high-pitched sound, like someone letting out a dying moan. Then the sound of a million sticks snapping in half. She never looked back to see what it was.

"They call these natural disasters, but I say there's nothing natural about it. Some folks've been sprinkling their houses with fairy dust, to ward off ghosts and witches."

There was a pause, and then she heard the boy whisper, "Da, I think she's the one they've been talking about."

"Well, if she is, we're giving her a ride. That's the way to stay out of trouble: be polite to folks. Remember that, Jonas. Be polite to folks, and no one'll have any cause to come after you."

She felt, more than saw, the boy look back at her. She just repositioned her head against the wagon, didn't look at either of them.

"Yes," the farmer went on after a moment, "there's something very unnatural going on in our kingdom, but the best thing to do is to stay out of it and mind your own business. That's what I always say."

She looked at her feet swinging below her. Bare feet, tough as the mountains. Watched the shadows of the trees on the road. Watched them grow longer. Clutched her compass until her fingers turned white as she watched all the trees bend toward her as the wagon passed by.

* * *

><p>Gideon clenched his fists and glanced into the sky, then at Thomas walking beside him, and back into the sky. The sun was lowering itself into the horizon at an alarming pace. And there were only two more streets to cross until they reached his house. And streets were more like alleyways in this part of the city. Narrow as sticks. It was a short, short walk. Too short.<p>

"Gideon, for heaven's sake, stop jerking your head about like that," Thomas finally said, giving him an exasperated glance. "Do you want to go to a pub or something?"

Gideon considered the idea of a pub. Somewhere he could sit in a well-lit, comfortable room, and drink a nice pint. Two pints. Maybe three. Drink until he forgot the whole lot of.

"Well?" Thomas inquired, and Gideon looked at him.

He wanted to say yes. He sighed. Rubbed his temple. Shook his head. "You know, I've never been that fond of drinking," he said, continuing to walk forward.

Thomas snorted. "Last Saturday, I came to your house, and you were blubbering drunk at high noon. Not fond of drinking, eh?"

Gideon frowned. He had only a vague memory of the day. It had been a particularly bad night. Or a bad morning, anyway. "That was a rare occasion," he said, waving it off. "But it's true. When I was a young man, I really hardly liked drinking at all."

Thomas glanced at him. "You're still a young man."

He waved off this notion as well, although it was quite true. Twenty-five was hardly old. But...he felt old. "Anyway, I'd sit in the pub with you all, just sipping, until the lot of you got rip roaring drunk, and I could sneak away to do more important errands."

"Important errands. That's what got you into this mess, isn't it?"

"It's not a mess," Gideon said, straightening his shoulders. "It's a star." He said this last in only a whisper, though there was no one around to hear.

"I don't see why you don't just get rid of the thing," Thomas said. "You don't like it."

"It's not that I don't like it," Gideon said, "its just that – well, you wouldn't understand." He could see his door now and strode to it with a sudden eagerness.

"Just like your conspiracies. You still want to save the kingdom?"

Gideon turned back to Thomas. "Thomas, I'm not insane. Listen to me. I caught a star. It fell out of the sky. Do you ever hear of stars just falling out of the sky? And the cracks in the palace, half the trees in the Fayne Forest just falling down? Our kingdom is splintering. I have to find out why."

Thomas gave him his look – like he couldn't decide if Gideon had a point or was just crackers. "Well – I don't know how much more of this you can take, Gideon. It's been nearly a year. There are three hundred sixty five days in a year. That's a lot of lifetimes, Gideon."

"Yes, I know. You don't have to tell me, Thomas. I know. It's my problem. Not yours."

Thomas sighed. "All right. Well, yours it is then." He indicated the door with one hand.

Gideon stared at him for a moment, then opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it fast behind him.

The room was dark and dusty. It was more of a shack than a house, and he wasn't the best with upkeep. But it didn't matter. The only thing worth looking at was on the table, inside a brass lantern.

It was glowing already, though it wasn't yet nightfall. He supposed it might as well have been, in his house. He glanced around a little, thought of lighting a candle. But what was the use?

He felt a sort of smile on his mouth as he moved toward the table, drew out a chair and fell into it, leaning toward the light. "Well, here we are again," he said to it, reaching one hand out like he might push his fingers through the holes and touch it. But he couldn't touch it, of course.

It seemed to glow brighter at the sound of his voice, but maybe that was just his imagination. "What will it be tonight?" he asked it, thinking of the other nights – the other lives.

As the sun sunk over the horizon, it happened. Light shot out in each direction, blinding him – and that was the end.

–

The vines attacked him. He slashed with the sword he'd carried from a far away land just for this purpose, but it was little use. They rose up like beasts, moving of their own accord. They wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, torso and then throat. He started choking, and then felt the thorns, wondering if he'd die choking on his own blood.

The lighting started to seem off then, like it was blinking in his eyes, and he was tired – so tired. Then there were strange shapes in front of him, and he knew the battle was over. This was surrender; he'd be just another pile of bones like the ones he'd seen behind him.

Then, a voice. It said _I wish...I wish..._ and then the vines let go, parted in front of him. He tramped through the rest of the way, into the castle. He went up a staircase flooded with leaves, then a hallway, observing the cracks in the floor, like the whole thing was ready to fall apart.

She was on a bed with pale hair spread out around her – and thorns. Around her like they'd been around him, maybe tighter. She was pale as a sheet. For a moment, he thought he'd failed his quest.

But he yanked his dagger from its sheath at his waist – the last weapon he had left and cut all the thorns that bound her like a rope. He watched for her breathing but didn't see it. He thought he might cry. Which was ridiculous. He didn't know her. He knew nothing about her. But he'd come so far.

He fell to the floor at her side and leaned his head against the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to come up with an idea of what to do next – and then he heard a breath of air, in and out. He got to his knees and watched her chest, gripping the edge of her mattress and when he saw her faint, shallow breath, he laughed and out of sheer joy got to his feet, leaned down, and kissed her.

He wasn't expecting her eyes to open at that moment, so of course he understood when she sat up and quickly pulled herself toward her pillow and away from him.

"I – I'm sorry," he said quickly, holding out his hands in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner. "I didn't meant to – to frighten you. I'm not the type of person to just go around kissing sleeping strangers, but..." he trailed off, looking to the floor. "I'm just so glad you're alive."

He couldn't tell from the sound she made or the expression on her face whether she was amused or disgusted. She glanced around the room – at the thorns, the leaves, the broken, strewn objects. Finally she looked back at him and spoke, "Well, I guess that wasn't the only unpleasant surprise I had to wake up to," she said as she swung her legs off the bed and stood up.

She walked around the room and then out, down the hallway, and he followed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Unpleasant surprise," he breathed to himself, frowning. Was he really that bad at kissing?

He watched her eyes as she walked the palace, taking in every crack, every overturned chair, opening doors to rooms he didn't realize were there, and looking at all of them with a growing look of despair.

It had to have been an hour before she turned back to him. "You're... the prince who was supposed to wake me after a hundred years?"

He nodded at her. "Yes. I mean, I guess so. That's what I was trying to do. That's what I did, I suppose, but if you think I'm not the right – "

She cut into his stammering with a tight voice, "Then why isn't my kingdom coming back together? Isn't everyone supposed to be here? Aren't they supposed to wake up with me? Tell me what's gone wrong!"

He had nothing to say to her, of course. He just bit his lip, and when she started to cry, he stepped forward and put his hand on her arm. She collapsed into his chest.

When they finally left the castle, he noticed a shadow – thought he heard a strange, gasping sort of breath behind him. When he turned, there was nothing there.

–

They went down into the villages. They told the people that their princess had awakened, after so many years. The people loved her. At every village they came out to see her, clapped their hands, kissed hers. It was easy to love her.

Her hair was so pale it might have been white, and her eyes were blue as the sky, but it wasn't just that. It was the way she carried herself – like a princess, he supposed. But she was personable too. She talked to people. Asked them about their land, their farms, their life. She genuinely cared for them.

They wanted to love him, too. She didn't quite let them. She kept him an arm's length away, and when people talked to him, she immediately gave him an errand to run. He found himself following her around like a dog at her heels and obeying every order like a servant.

Even when she told him to build her a castle and he stared at her as if she'd gone mad, when she turned away with her nose in the air, he went to the closest stone mason, asked him what it would cost.

"Too much!" he cried at the price. "It's for the princess. Don't you think you could make an exception for the princess?"

"A man's got to make a living," the man said.

He sighed.

The mason looked at him. "Listen," he said. "You do the labor yourself; I'll give you everything you need. Deal?"

He hesitated, then nodded.

It was backbreaking work, building a castle. She spent far too much of the time standing there watching him.

"You know," he said one day, "you could help me. One man is not very many to build a castle. I don't think it's really going to turn out like a castle. Maybe a mansion. Are you all right with that?"

She stood there, looking at him.

He kept working.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked finally.

He stopped swinging his hammer a moment and looked at her. "Because you ordered me to."

"So?" she said. "I'm not a princess. Not really. I don't have any more power than you do. Everyone's gone. The nobles, advisors, my family. The kingdom governs itself now."

"The people love you," he said. "And as far as I'm concerned, you're still a princess. Kingdom or no."

"Will you marry me?" she asked, and he stared at her. "I mean it," she said. "I need – I want – will you just answer me already?"

Still in disbelief, he nodded. Then he kissed her for the second time, and when they pulled away she was smiling at him.

He gave her a half smile back. "Was it a bit less unpleasant this time?"

She laughed.

–

The problems of the world did not solve when they got married. There was a coronation after the wedding. They were king and queen, though they didn't much feel like it. They called their house a castle, though it was little more than a stone cabin in the end.

They made laws and decrees occasionally, but the kingdom didn't need them. They had children who ran in the forests and meadows along with the village children. Little princes and princesses who were taught that royalty meant service to the people, and they spent their days gardening and cleaning houses of those who couldn't do it on their own. They never had servants.

On his fortieth birthday, Gideon's wife made him a cake with chocolate frosting. It was a grand, if small celebration. Everyone sang. Lit the candles, ate until they were stuffed.

After the children went to bed, they did the dishes together, and he asked her, "Are you happy with this?"

She glanced at him. "With what?"

"With the way everything turned out. You and me and... our castle," he said, glancing around the clearly lived-in room.

She glanced with him and then smiled. "Yes," she said. "I'm happy. Aren't you?" He dried the plate in his hands and put it away. When he didn't give an answer, she looked at him with a raised brow. "Well?"

"Of course I'm happy," he said. "I just wonder sometimes. Why the kingdom didn't go back to how it was. Wasn't that what was supposed to happen? Or did I miss something when I came, all those years ago? Something I should have done that would have broken the curse?"

She dropped the soapy dishes and grabbed his hand. "Gideon my love," she said, "it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're here now. And we're happy."

For a moment, he thought of when they left the castle. He thought about shadows just out of sight. What had he missed? He had the desperate feeling that he'd missed it more than once. He had the strange feeling that he'd been a king before in some other circumstance, and – and he always missed something.

When he looked back into her eyes, he saw that she was right. It didn't matter. They were here, with their children, with their home, with their simple lives. And they were happy.

–

She died when he was seventy. He cried until he felt there was nothing left inside of him, that he'd cried it all out. They buried her in the forest, close to the old castle, though little of it remained. "It's where she came from," he told his children and grandchildren. "It's where she ought to be."

They held a simple service for her. There were more people there than he expected. All of the villagers who'd loved her and all of their children and grandchildren whom they had told of the lovely princess who slept for a hundred years came to pay their respects. He was grateful, and he told them so in the first real speech he'd had to give. He felt like a king, maybe for the first time ever. An old, sad king.

He stayed on another five years or so. He liked his grandchildren best of all. He took them to the castle often where they played in the many crumbling rooms. His grandsons pretended to be himself, battling through living thorns. His granddaughters were princesses, keeping lookouts for their heroes. He told them so many stories.

And then one day, he knew it was the end. The sun was out, and he sat in his garden. He felt content – and so tired. He watched the wind blow through his flowers and vegetables, rocking them back and forth. And he watched the sky for evening. It gave him a feeling – he wasn't sure what – like a memory of being antsy at evening, eager and dreading it all at once.

But mainly he watched the sun. And as it warmed him and dripped into the tree line, he slipped away.

–

Gideon blinked. It was dawn. There was pale light coming through his window. The lantern was dim.

He stood up and walked to the window, pressed his face against the glass. It was over. His life was over, but he wasn't. He moved back to his chair and sat down again, letting his head fall to the table.

After a while, he heard a knock on the door, but he didn't get up for it. Let them knock. He was through.

"Gideon, it's Thomas," he heard a voice call to him eventually.

He blinked a few more times. Thomas. Thomas. He had a friend named Thomas...once. Down at the river, fishing when they were boys. Getting into all sorts of trouble when they were young men. He looked down at his hands, the unwrinkled skin. When they were young men. Now. He rubbed his temples. "Yes, come in," he said finally.

The door opened, and Thomas strode in and came to stand next to him. "Took you long enough to answer. How was your night?"

He rubbed his temples again. He still felt dazed. "I'm tired of princesses," he said finally. "I'm always in love with them. They always die."

"Ah. Well. That happens," said Thomas, pulling another chair to the table. "Was she pretty?"

He nodded. "We had children. And grandchildren."

"Oh, a long one then," Thomas said, sitting down. "You were king then? Saved the world?"

He sighed. "I was king. Didn't save the world. Or the kingdom, really. I saved her, and then...nothing went back to how it should have been. We just lived.

Thomas pulled out another chair and sat down. He pulled the brass lantern and peered into it. "Funny," he said. "How many scenarios do you think are inside of this thing? How many lives are you going to live?"

Gideon said nothing for a long moment. Then, "Thomas," he said in a voice so deep and heavy that his friend stopped looking at the star and turned to him. "I'm tired of living. I'm tired of dreams that are never quite right. I'm tired of everything."

Thomas reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "You still have the kingdom to save, remember, old boy? The real one. Word on the street is more cracks in the palace. Big, gaping ones. Apparently, they can hardly walk down the hallway for fear of falling through. I heard someone blame it on the princess, though I fail to see what she has to do with anything. In any case, perhaps you'd let me have a crack at her, since you're so tired of them."

"You can have her. You can have all of it. I don't want to save anyone."

Thomas sighed. "Yesterday you were talking about scaling the palace walls? What happened to that? Come on, we're at least going out today." He stood up and then pulled Gideon out of his chair, pushing him to the doorway.

Gideon reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled outside. All he could think of was that he couldn't remember her name. He wasn't sure he could remember any of their names. He grew so old among dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm such a bad updater blajfskdfjas. Also a word to the wise: don't ever put two unnamed characters of the same gender in a scene together. IT IS TERRIBLE.

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><p>When the wagon broke down, the farmer knelt down by the broken axle while his son stood looking at her. She stood apart from them, curling her toes into the dirt road and looking around. Trees on either side of her. Road in front. And behind – forest, hills, mountain. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see it.<p>

At last, the farmer sighed and turned to her. "Well, we're still some miles from Eschen. We can fix this, but it'll be a while. You might go quicker on your own."

She nodded her head and then hesitated a moment more. Pursed dry, cracked lips together. "Th – thank you," she managed to get out. Glanced down at the compass. The arrow pointed straight ahead, so she started walking. And walking.

The day passed in a haze of blue sky, brown road, green trees. She felt sweat drip out of her skin and slip down her back. Later it dried in the breeze that ruffled her hair, made her dress flutter about her body like it was made of – butterflies.

There was a fork in the road when she heard the clip-clop of horse hooves again. She turned to look. It was a woman – girl, maybe. White horse, pale hair, bright. She blinked a few times and turned to the left, stepping forward.

The horsewoman-girl only just noticed her, pulling back on the reins right before she would have passed by. "I almost didn't see you there!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry if I kicked up any dust at you."

She looked up and then back down at her own clothing. She wasn't concerned with dust. That should have been obvious.

The pale young woman – girl, she decided – glanced at something in her hand, turned her head around a bit, back at her hand, and down to her again. "I'm Lydia," she said at last, giving a faint smile. "Where are you headed? What's your business?"

The sun was making her head hurt. She licked her lips a few times to feel the moisture. "Forward," she said at last.

"Forward," the girl repeated. "Well, that – that's a good destination, I suppose." She gave something of a laugh.

She was thirsty, but it didn't matter. She kept walking. Walking. Walking.

"And – you said your business was...?"

She blinked. Stepped. Blinked. Everything was so bright. Bright sun. Bright road. Bright girl. "My – my star."

"Your star. Your star," was repeated back to her. "Do you – do you mind telling me what your name is?"

Her name. She managed turning her head to look at the girl. No one... no one had asked her name. In – in forever. She had no reason to tell anyone, but... "Charlotte," she said.

"Charlotte." The woman smiled. "That's good. It's nice to meet you, Charlotte."

She said nothing. The road was blinking at her now. She kept... walking. One foot in front of the other. Just stumble a little farther. Blink. Step. Blink. Blink.

* * *

><p>When she woke up, the girl – Lydia was looking anxiously into her face. She felt wet. She moved a hand to touch her face and hair, and it seemed that she'd had water dumped on her head. She sat up and inched away.<p>

"Oh, good, you're awake," Lydia said. "I think you're just dehydrated. And maybe tired to death. Here, drink this." She handed Charlotte a cup of water, which she looked at for a moment before raising it to her lips. It was cool and slipped down her parched throat like a refreshing waterfall. When it was gone, she handed it back to Lydia, who took it with a smile.

They were by a stream. The white horse was tethered to a tree nearby.

"Now, why don't you tell me again where you're going," Lydia said.

She shook her head, started scrambling to her feet. "No time. My – my star."

"Yes, you said," Lydia said, getting up as well and following her as she took her first steps, following the stream. "But I don't understand. How can a star belong to you? And where are you going to... find it, if that's what you're doing?"

She shook her head again. No time for talking. Just – star shining brilliant in the dark sky that hid her personal ruins, shining shining and falling, cascading downward to her. She should have caught it then and there, but it fell too far away; she couldn't _reach_ that far, but she had to get there had to had to

"I'm not trying to bother you," Lydia cut into her thoughts, still walking at her side. "It's just... I'm looking for someone – like you're looking for your star, and I thought maybe you... could help."

Something in the forlorn voice made her turn her head to face the girl just her own age and eyes with matching desperation. Something of the hardness of mountains slipped away maybe in that moment, and she found her rough, seldom used voice asking, "Who?"

There was a moment of silent walking before the girl answered. An acknowledgement, maybe, that they were walking together and leaving the white horse behind – it didn't matter compared to star person search.

"Well – it's sort of complicated," Lydia said at last. "I've never met her. But I have to find her, because... she's the only one that can make things better, see."

Charlotte shook her head. She did not see.

"It's – the whole kingdom is ripping at the seams. You've heard something of it, I'm sure. Everyone has."

Charlotte glanced at her.

"The rockslides in the mountains. The forests all falling over. Cracks in the palace. Lately fires, I've heard. Something has to be done!"

"What can... one girl do?" Charlotte asked in her cracked voice that didn't like to talk much.

"Well – I don't know about that either. It's a sort of complicated... thing, but – it's not just one girl. I'm here too, you know! I'll help her in any way I can. I want her to know that. That's why I wanted to find her, myself. Rather than... Anyway, you're looking for a star! I'd say one girl can do a lot."

They looked at each other, and again there was an acknowledgement. That Lydia will not go back for her horse. That Charlotte will not walk too fast and lose her among the brambles. They will walk, for the moment, together.

When the sun began to sink through the horizon and the air finally cooled their skin instead of heating it, Charlotte took out her compass, checking that she was still walking the right direction. Lydia took out her own small object that turned out to be a compass itself.

Through a glance, Charlotte saw that Lydia's compass was nearly identical to her own; she saw Lydia taking in the similar – same markings. She didn't look to see where Lydia's arrow was pointing, and Lydia showed the same courtesy. They just slipped the items back into their pockets at the same moment.

When the stream veered away, they kept walking straight and soon came out of the wooded area, onto a road leading into a village. Though it wasn't dark quite yet, there was no one outdoors, and the streets already sparkled.

Charlotte smirked – this was what the farmer was talking about, the way villages sprinkled their doorsteps.

"That's funny," Lydia said from beside her. "It all looks sort of – glimmery, don't you think? I didn't know the stone they built these villages out of would sparkle so much at sunset."

Charlotte smirked a little more at Lydia's naivety. Villages did not sparkle, whether at sunrise, sunset, or midday. Only... in snow, sometimes. Like at the top of the mountain so much of the year.

They kept walking. Then, as they reached the village, something strange happened. Some of the sparkles seemed to lift from the streets and steps in front of the houses, rising into the air in tiny golden flecks. They came toward Charlotte as she stepped through the streets, curving and spiraling toward her as if they had minds of their own.

Lydia stepped back as the flecks floated to settle on Charlotte's skin and wrap themselves around her arms like bracelets or ropes, with the ends stretched out in front of her. "What's happening?" Lydia asked.

Charlotte had no answer. She just looked at the fairy dust – and then out of the darkening twilight came the creatures themselves. At first they seemed themselves to be only specks of dust, then slightly larger orbs of light, and at last as they grew closer formed shapes of tiny bodies with arms and legs... and wings.

They weren't like butterfly wings. They were lighter than that, iridescent and nearly see through as they fluttered onto her arms and up her shoulders, landing with a weight no greater than a raindrop. Some stayed in front of her, fluttering, grasping at the ropes of dust that wound their way around her. _Come with us, Charlotte. Come with us. Come with us._

They tugged on the ropes around her arms, and she felt wind blowing at her back, pushing her forward, forward. She hesitated, glancing next to her. "Lydia," she said.

The fairies made some humming noise that was apparently approval as they moved to land on Lydia also, who looked apprehensive as if she might like to swat them away like any other irritating insect that might land on her. "Charlotte, what's happening?" she whispered as the fairies pulled at her hair and pushed on her arms until she was close to Charlotte. Several of them lifted her arm while several others lifted Charlotte's, and then one flew around and around and around them, and when it was finished there was a thread of dust like the others on Charlotte's arm but this one binding them together.

Charlotte shook her head. She could hear them whispering some more. Now, _Lydia. Lydia. Charlotte. Lydia. Come with us. Both of you. Come._

She had no choice but to follow as they pulled her, dragging Lydia along next to her, the two of them stumbling down the dirt road through the village. Gradually their steps grew smoother and then – they weren't stepping. They were _gliding._

She looked to Lydia's eyes the same moment Lydia looked to hers, and then they both looked down at their feet which weren't touching the ground but just floating above.

They were in a cloud of fairy dust now – a golden haze surrounding them and all throughout flew the tiny winged creatures, each surrounded by an orb of their own light in all the colors of the rainbow. They danced as they flew – twirling and bounding through the air, creating patterns out of light and dust, and the sound of their laughing and whispering was like the wind.

Now and then, the fairies and golden dust would part, and Charlotte could make out the scenery they were flying over. The tiered shapes of pine trees here, sloping rooftops there. Grass tickled her feet as they sailed over a tall meadow.

"This – this is incredible," Lydia whispered after she seemed to have finally faced the fact that her feet were not on the ground. "Have you done this before?" she asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "Never," she said, and in Lydia's eyes she felt the sameness again – this time not of desperation, but wonder. She smiled, and Lydia smiled back.

* * *

><p>Gideon stood with his back to the city, staring into a wide meadow as the sun lowered into the clouds. His fingers wrapped around the handle of his lantern, the star faintly glowing inside. He had an hour, maybe, before sunset.<p>

_If you're so sick of it, why don't you just get rid of it?_ Thomas had asked him – the final remark of their all-day argument.

They'd walked up and down the streets, through the marketplace, he'd even tried scaling the palace wall just to prove a point. It was a painful point to prove, he'd discovered, after falling to the ground from five feet above.

But it was true. He was no hero. A hero could scale the wall. A hero could save the kingdom.

_If you're so sick of it, why don't you just get rid of it? _Thomas asked. And that was what he intended to do.

He lifted the lantern to eye level for one last look at the bright orb that captivated him that night, nearly a year ago – it seemed so much longer – now.

He'd been at the pub. In those days, he still did what he liked best at the pub, just sipping and listening to the half formed stories of the local lunatics. Then once his mates had lost track of him, he'd slip out to the meadow, make up his own ends to those stories. They usually involved himself saving the day somehow.

He shook his head now. It was a delusion he'd had since childhood. That he was somehow more important than everyone, that it was up to him to singlehandedly save the world.

Of course, he'd been a bit too old for hero stories by the time he found the star. But the meadow was still his favorite place to think. Considering whether to buy this, sell that, and succeed! Like life was one giant game he was going to win.

And then lying on his back, he saw this star just fall out of the sky. Shot from the heavens, leaving a streak of light behind it, and then it just floated there above him, bobbing slightly in the breeze.

He'd tried to grab it, but – it didn't quite work that way. He couldn't ever seem to touch it. Maybe it darted away from him; maybe it just... wasn't made of anything touchable.

In any case, he was determined to have it, so he caught it in his lantern instead. Thomas had said once that maybe stars weren't meant to be caught. Maybe he ought to have left it free. But... it was so beautiful. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, and he wanted it to be his own. He felt like it already was. It fell down in front of him; it fell down _for_ him.

And it let him play hero every night, just like he'd always wanted.

The thing was, he didn't want it anymore. He looked at the thing, glowing there in the lantern, and considered it leaving him. Would it fly back into the sky? Or zip through the night to some other, more qualified human? Or... just stay there, bobbing in front of him?

His fingers were on the tiny door, ready to let it out. He'd sleep tonight like a normal person, instead of living some double life in a far off world. In the morning he'd feel fine, rested, normal. Not like he'd lost everything. Not like he'd ever had anything or done anything worthwhile.

He pursed his lips together, looked out into the meadow, wide and empty.

He still couldn't shake the idea that the falling star was somehow linked to the other catastrophes in the kingdom, that he was on the verge of... finding _something_ out. He didn't know what, but something. Something great. Something worthwhile.

He looked at the sun, sinking through the sky. Back at the star, twinkling in its lantern.

"Hang it all!" he yelled, dropping his arm back down, still gripping the lantern. He let his breath out and began marching back to the city. "One night," he said, glancing down at the star. "I'll give you one more night, and if something doesn't change by tomorrow, I am getting rid of you, I swear it. No more nostalgia, no more chasing my life dreams. We're through. You hear me?" He looked back down from his path to the star, which of course was not answering him. He sighed. He was talking to a star. That was what it had done to him. He'd lost it completely. Well, one more night couldn't do much more harm than that.


	3. Chapter 3

She was a mermaid, and he was a prince, and she had a kingdom underwater that was being torn apart by currents from the sea witch, and she came to land for help, became a human though every step on her pale feet felt like knives twisted through her soles and up into her calves and it was all she could do not to scream every standing moment.

He knew all this not from words, for she had no speech but every time he looked into her sea green eyes, he could see her world in bright coral and shimmering fishes and feel the snap of rip tides and the quivering beat of her heart, her fear, her courage.

"Show me what I can do for you," he said, for he had to help this beautiful creature from the sea, this girl with shining hair and translucent skin and an airy frame that looked as if she might blow away, and yet she stood tall on her own two feet even as she writhed within for the pain.

He saw the sea witch then: a gnarled, eel-like creature with a split tongue, and the darkness surrounding her was not entirely a lack of light but rather a feeling of pure unbridled hate.

The tears upon the mermaid's face that she wiped at with a surprised hand, wondering at the ocean leaking from the corners of her eyes were enough to tell him the sea witch must be stopped, one way or another. But the cracking ocean floor, the torn seaweed ripped up by their roots, the fish flung far and wide, the tumbling turrets of a sea shell castle were enough to shake his heart.

"I am only a man," he said, "What can I do?"

But a feeling filled his heart of quiet hope and unbroken trust, and if she could have spoken words, they would have been these: _You are not only a man. You are a hero._

"All right," he said. "I will try all that I can."

He took her in a rowboat out into the bay under the melting sun and learned of her father's long silver beard and the gold triton in his right hand that still was not enough to fight the magic of the sea witch. He learned of a knife somewhere beneath the sea that contained the most powerful magic in the world but for a price. It was with this knife that the mermaid had sliced her own tail in two and to have that pain as a constant companion was the price she paid to become a human, to find him.

When he asked why she did not defeat the sea witch with the knife herself, he only had the feeling that she knew she was not the one to do it. Someone else was needed: a hero, a savior from the dry lands who was not touched by the sea witch's power.

They reached the place where the bay widened out into the open sea, and she touched his arm and pointed down into the water, and in her eyes, he could see the knife jabbed into a rock with only a pearl handle sticking out, immersed beneath leagues and leagues of sea green water.

"I can't dive that far," he said, "I'd run out of air," but her hand only moved to his collar, pulling him near to her, his face inches from her and then pressed her lips to his, and he felt a rush of cold air in his lungs, filling them up and staying there, air to last him to the bottom of the sea and back.

"I'll return as soon as I can," he said, the memory of her smooth, cold lips still resting on his. "I promise."

Her eyes watched him as he stood at the edge of the boat and then dove into the still water. He swam and swam away from the warmth of the sun as it dripped into the water, away from the surface and the land he knew, into a darkness and a coldness he had never felt before. He swam down as the water seemed to crush him, until his head felt fuzzy and his vision blurry. He had air enough but the weight of water still affected him, but he went further into the darkness until he could see nothing at all. Nothing.

And nothing.

And nothing.

Then brightness. It was a different brightness than that of the sun, but it was a brightness he recognized from the mermaid's eyes, the brightness of things that glow in the deep, and he could see clams opening and closing, oysters forming pearls within themselves, the faint flickering of orange and silver fish, pink coral and flowing orange anemones. And there in a rock: the knife with the pearl handle. On the blade were words inscribed: What do you wish?

He pursed his lips together, unsure how to answer, then decided it would have to be a thought, for he could not speak underwater: _I wish to defeat the sea witch and make the sea kingdom right again._

The letters on the blade blurred, the lines twisting and swirling together until they read a new message: _Are you prepared to pay the price for your wish?_

He swallowed the fear gnawing at his throat and in his stomach. _What is the price? _he asked.

He watched the letters rearrange themselves once more: _For you, the price is your heart. If it is too much, the task is not for you._

He couldn't help first thought: _Do I have to cut it out myself?_ The knife seemed to take this as acceptance and came at his chest, and he felt the slashing and slashing and red warmth flowing about his chest, and then he felt nothing – or not so much nothing as a strange separation. He knew that he had to defeat the sea witch and restore the kingdom under the sea but he could not comprehend why, though another distant part of him felt – he felt – he felt that there was a mermaid waiting for him who knew his name though he never told her, who believed in him though he had done nothing for her, who sliced her fin in two just so she could meet him. That was something to fight for.

The blood had stopped, his wound healed together; he was without a heart in his chest but very much alive. The knife now told him to take it with him to achieve his wish, so he swam for the surface, coming up dripping on the side of the boat, gasping for breath.

When she saw the scars on his chest, she held her fingers to them, tracing the lines gently, and tears began to fall from her eyes again. In their green he could see her home again, torn apart, he could see her slicing her tail in two, he could see the moment she crawled onto shore and saw him there with the sun shining on his hair. Only it was harder to feel it now, harder to feel her pain and fear and hope and trust and… love. He could feel it only distantly, as if from long ago. Her tears merely multiplied as he watched her.

"I'll still defeat the sea witch. I'll restore your kingdom. Just lead me to her."

When they reached the spot in the ocean where the deed had to be done, she breathed her cool air into him again, but the cold of her lips on his did not have the same effect as before, and when he dove into the frigid depths, he thought only of the task at hand and not the reason he had for completing it.

The sea witch was waiting outside her lair with a crooked smile on her crooked lips, and she spoke words into his mind, _I see you've come to kill me. But you're not the one for the job._

_What do you mean?_ he asked, hesitating a moment with the knife in hand.

_When the price to complete a task is too high and takes away from who you really are, you're not the one to do it. But it's too late now, hollow chested boy. _Her laugh cackled and rolled inside his head.

The sound was too much for him. He dove toward her and thrust the blade of the knife into her chest. When her cackling only grew louder, he pulled it out and sliced through her torso, cutting her in half. Her laughter died as her body shriveled to the ocean floor.

_And the kingdom? _he asked of the knife. _Will it go back to how it should be now?_

_What is done cannot be undone, _said the knife. _The witch's currents have ended, but the damages will stay as long they will stay._

He knew in his head he ought to be angry, but he could not find it within himself to be angry. He merely swam to the surface and climbed into his boat again and relayed the news to the mermaid who cried and grasped his hand in thanks for the part he had accomplished and cried again.

He offered her the knife in case she wished to become a mermaid once more, but she cast it into the sea. In her eyes, he could see the shorelines and in his own castle glittering in the sunlight. He rowed them both into that shore and told her she could stay with him as long as she liked.

She stayed one year.

It was on his wedding evening – an arranged marriage to a princess with sky blue eyes and golden hair – on the ship where the service was held under the crying gulls and then the party began, when his mermaid danced on feet like angel's, and he could not remember why he kept thinking she ought to sit down. It was after the sun had melted into the water and the stars had rose up from the deep and he had retired to bed with his wife, numbly carrying out the rituals of the marriage bed. Long into the night his door opened with a slight creak and he saw her standing there in the light of the moon, looking as if she glowed from within. In her hand she held a pearl handled knife. He sat up quietly, careful not to wake his wife.

He looked into her eyes and could read her story. Her sisters came with the knife, wishing to make her a mermaid again. They had paid with their hair, but she had to contribute her own price. To bind her legs together again, to swim freely with no fear of drowning, to gain back her three hundred years of life – for all these things there was a price that only she could pay in full. She had to kill him.

He looked at her in the moonlight, accepting his fate as calmly as he accepted everything since that day his heart was cut out in the water. He felt nothing.

And yet, there was more. She could not do it. She could not bring herself to kill the man who cut out his heart for her, to save her kingdom and her home.

She looked down at the knife in her hand and seemed to read some words written on the blade. She lifted it then to the palm of her hand and sliced through her skin, blood seeping around the blade and dripping on the floor in crimson petals.

And then she opened her mouth and spoke in a voice like silver. "My wish – my second to last wish for which the price was merely the blood of my right hand, was to speak to you. I know you cannot feel me now as you once could, so I have to try and explain in words what you cannot know in your heart.

"I love you. I love you with the light of a million suns and the weight of a thousand oceans and the hearts of every creature that has ever lived in this world and that is why I will not – cannot ever kill you. Instead I will stab this blade into myself and die here so that I can become a daughter of the air. Then I will be able go anywhere, drift on any wind, dance on any sunbeam, even in the foam of the sea, and I will find your heart. And I will bring it back to you so you can feel my love just once. This is my last wish."

With those words, she lifted the knife up high above her head and brought it crashing down into her chest with a single cry, blood flooding from her body, and then suddenly she was gone. Nothing remained but a bit of sparkle and the knife on the deck.

He stood up then, walked to the knife and picked it up, examining the pearl handle. He walked outside and to the rail where he threw it overboard, watching the splash as it cut through the surface. On a wave passing by he saw white foam, drifting away.

000

Gideon awoke breathing hard and clutching at his chest. It was with great relief that he felt his heart beating there – drumming really, and he let out his breath. "It was only a dream," he said to himself, as reinforcement. "Only a dream."

It wasn't even a particularly long dream – only a year, which was good, because he didn't know if he could have stood this particular dream any longer than a year, without a heart. Only he wasn't happy now either, because he was in love with a mermaid, but he couldn't save her kingdom, or even make her happy – maybe because he was trying too hard to save her kingdom, but that wasn't fair! That wasn't the way things were supposed to go!

He looked at the star on the table, floating inside the lantern. Its glow was beginning to fade in the morning light. He stood up and examined it more closely, swaying a little on his feet.

"What are you trying to tell me, star?" he asked the thing. "Are you trying to say that I should give up? That I'm not meant to save the kingdom? That I don't have a heart – or if I try to save the kingdom I'll lose my heart somehow in the process? I don't understand, and I'm bloody tired of these cryptic messages!"

No response, of course. He let his breath out in a particularly loud sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. The star bounced in its lantern, moving slightly away from him. He shook his head and walked around the table, looking out the window. It was rather dusty, but he could make out the field across the road, with all the long, green grass. There were two people standing in it. Girls, he thought. That was unusual. Usually he was the only one to ever go walking through it.

After a moment, he turned away, wondering when Thomas would show up. He needed to tell someone how much he hated everything.

* * *

><p>When the sun rose, Charlotte's eyes opened and blinked a few times at the bright sun. The fairies were gone – no more dancing lights, no more flying. Lydia was there still, at her side, sleeping. They were in a field of tall grass.<p>

She looked at the blue sky overhead and felt her eyes drooping shut again, nestling her head into the soft grass. She was woken again by a warmth in her hand, and she sat up, looking at the compass she still gripped. It warm – hot even, and the arrow fluttered about as if it couldn't contain itself in its frame, though it stayed pointing mainly in one direction.

She stood up and took a step the way it pointed, then looked down at Lydia. She had to keep walking. She had to find her star. But Lydia…

She pursed her lips together, then took a step backwards, leaning down to shake Lydia awake. The girl's eyes opened groggily, blinking at the harsh light. She murmured a wordless complaint and rolled over.

Charlotte shook her harder. "I have… to go," she said, still forming words with difficulty. It had been so long since she'd had to explain her actions to anyone, so long since she'd woken up with anyone who knew her name within a ten mile radius.

"Go where?" Lydia asked at last, rolling back over and squinting at her.

"My star," she said, pointing out of the field, into the city somewhere.

Lydia groaned a bit more and rubbed her eyes. "All right, I'm coming," she said, standing up and brushing off her dress. "But it's awfully early, isn't it?"

Charlotte did not answer but started walking. The grass was soft on her feet, and her star was close. She was certain of it.

They walked out of the field and across a road, then stopped in front of a small house – a shack, really, even smaller than her old house on the mountain. "It's pointing here," she said, glancing back at Lydia a moment before reaching for the doorknob.

"Charlotte! You have to knock!" Lydia said, grabbing her hand. She lifted her own hand and gave a persistent knock on the wooden door.

A long moment passed before it opened with a young, rather disheveled man on the other side. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, as if hadn't slept in months. "Yes, what do you want?" he asked, but Charlotte merely looked down at the compass now nearly burning the palm of her hand and walked past him, into the small room.

And there on the table it was, floating in a brass lantern, not glowing in the morning light so much as merely pulsing gently, and she set the compass down and took the lantern in her hands and opened the tiny door. The man was shouting at her, but she opened her hand and the star flew to her and landed there, burning, but that didn't matter. Her fingers closed around the glow and her whole hand turned a brilliant white with the light. "This is my star," she said triumphantly, smiling at Lydia and the man. "I found my star."

* * *

><p>Thank you all for your patience! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know!<p> 


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